


Aftermath

by Mtraverandujar



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28711992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtraverandujar/pseuds/Mtraverandujar
Summary: In the end, there's us.
Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Aftermath

His arm is wrapped around her shoulders, hers across his waist.

They slide down the hallways in silence. Their strides are heavy; the weight of this nefarious day finally swooping down on them. They move in sync with every step, swaying in unison to the beat of a music they only can hear. Laura's head leans on Bill's shoulder. They make their way painfully, dragging their feet, as if they were facing a hurricane that could crush them any second.

They barely cross anyone in the desolate corridors. There is a creaking noise somewhere; cries, bumping, indistinct moans, hurried strides. They are the remnants of the chaos that refuse to quench. Normality will take weeks to settle back in the hallways, the shared areas, the CIC. And even when it does, it will never be the same. Nothing will ever be again like it was yesterday or even this morning. The universe no longer divides into humans and cylons. Now, everything comes down to a personal choice. Everyone has picked a side with their lives and defended it with their blood. In the hubbub of the assault, everything has mingled, and all alliances and loyalties have forever been redefined. Reestablishing unity will be like trying to recompose a porcelain vase smashed on the floor: you may paste the pieces back together, but the cracks will forever remain visible.

Laura keeps her hand close to her face. She covers her mouth with shaky fingers, trying to stifle the sobs that wrack her body. She sweeps away the few tears that escape her control; brushes strands of her false hair off her face when it slides over her eyes. Exhaustion weighs on her shoulders, hunches her back. The shaking persists. Bill's powerful arm holds her so close that her body follows every move of his, as if she were an extension of him. A slight tremor, a stumble, the muscles of his arm tensing and relaxing but never letting go of her. The serene cadence of his breathing. His exhaustion seeps into her bones; his scent envelops her in a safe cocoon. Her fingers clutch the fabric of his uniform. If she could speak, Laura would plead for him to hold her even tighter, to perceive even more clearly the physical evidence of his presence.

He is alive.

He is alive, but she now knows how it feels to be airlocked, to have the ground fall apart under her feet and get sucked into the black void of the universe. She will never forget how her body went limp, as if all her bones and muscles had dissolved, when Zarek said he had been executed. Only the surge of her ire had stopped her from suffocating. Boiling rage had crept from her gut to her throat as she could conceive one notion only: ending them all. She had been ready to nuke the leftovers of the species and the civilization she spent years defending. This primal, instinctive tremor, the moment she found herself stripped off the truest part of herself, the core of her being; the person, the love that define her more than anything. Exterminating them even at the expense of her own life; because now, without him, she had nothing left to lose.

Nothing to live for.

They are standing in front of the hatch to his quarters. She is not sure how they got here; their entire walk home has passed in a blur. She tries to blink away her confusion. Bill spins the wheel and pushes the gear which slides open with its usual whimper. His hand on her waist, he ushers her in gently. He follows, turns around to switch on the lights and locks the hatch.

The nightmare is over. They are alone now.

Safe. Together.

Bill turns to her slowly. She is standing right there, just a couple of steps away, hands clasped together, waiting for him. She cannot bring herself to leave him too far behind; she can only go so far if he does not follow.

Bill walks over to her. His hands cup her face; he plunges into her gaze, a warm, concerned smile spreading on his lips. Laura feels her own pain and exhaustion written all over her traits. This woman in front of Bill must look nothing like the one who threatened to use all the weapons in her power to liquidate the mutineers just a while earlier. Nothing like the woman who managed to convince the cylons to stay loyal to him, to give him time, to not jump to other coordinates; the one who was speaking to the entire fleet this morning, trying to gather allies against the rebels.

She no longer knows where that woman is.

What is standing before him right now is just the leftovers. Barely held-back tears, extenuation, debris. Bill strokes her cheek with his thumb, and she lays her hands on his chest, avoiding his eyes. She would like to return his look, his affection, but she can't. Not yet. It fills her with the urge to explain.

'Zarek… He said you'd been executed.'

She barely chokes out the words, as if all the energy she can imbue her voice with, the kind of fire that can put off mutinies at the end of the world, remained trapped in the wireless system.

He squints, frowns; his lips become a taut line.

'Earlier, when you left in that raptor…'

He trails off, but she already knows what he is trying to say. She remembers his pain, how it matched her own. As the hatch to the raptor closed that would fly her away to safety, he had looked as if the sole prospect of not seeing her ever again kicked all the air out of his lungs. He had not given a frak what Lee, Kara, Tigh, Athena, Baltar and Chief may think as he kissed her senseless and she kissed him back with equal ardor. He had melted into her, let her hold him up, maybe for the last time. She had not given a frak, either. She knows; he is now assessing her pain upon losing him against that moment when he thought her forever lost to him. Remembering his own despair as his eyes locked with hers under the closing hatch of that raptor, trying to imagine her devastation during the time she has been sure she would never see him again.

'I'm right here.' He murmurs.

Laura lowers her eyes. Her nimble fingers play with his lapels absentmindedly. He takes his hands off her face and wraps them around her waist. His breath strokes her ear, warm and soft, as he speaks in his low rumble.

'I heard you on the wireless.' He says softly. 'I was in my quarters; Zarek had just handed me my death sentence. Then the buzzing, the static interrupted us, and I heard you.' His voice quivers a little. 'You were safe. I heard you in action, ready for battle. My president and the woman I love. Stronger than ever, rising to the occasion when no one else can and making all of us feel again that nothing is lost if you're in charge.'

He looks transfixed, lost in his memories.

'If I had to die, at least it would be with your accent in my ears.'

Her heart shatters in a million pieces. She wonders how many more impacts she can handle today before passing out. She had hoped he would hear her over the wireless. She had prayed to the Gods she no longer believed in that she could still reach him somehow. Now she knows she did; that had been a wonderful, unforeseen gift for him in his most fragile moment. Bill had felt she was speaking to him only. Because she was.

'You're extraordinary, Laura. We would've never made it without you.'

Bill pulls her closer. However, her palms on his chest create a soft barrier that keeps them close yet apart. Undone like she is, she won't stop until she says what she still needs to say. She clears her throat.

'You're all I have, Bill. You're-' Her voice quivers. 'I've never loved anyone like I love you. I just… Without you, I…'

She shakes her head. She hopes he understands. She wants to make him see it as clearly as she did, the moment she found herself alone. She can't convey how the measure of her own fragility has dawned on her, crude and devastating. She was so used to making her own life decisions, to being enough for herself. Now she knows the truth: she has nothing, is nothing without him. This changes everything even if he is back; even if his arms are holding her right now. Even if she can touch him, caress him; even as his warmth melts all the ice in her bones.

This changes everything.

Bill pulls her tighter. Now she lets him: she gives in to the unmistakable will of his arms. She wraps her own around him, leans her forehead on his shoulder and breathes out all the air she has been holding.

He must know what she means. He knows she thinks she will die soon enough, even if he refuses to believe it; to talk or even think about it. It is not out of selfishness or cowardice: plain and simple, he can't bear it. However, today she had to live with the certainty of having lost him. The only valuable thing in her life; the company of the one person that makes her want to keep clinging to this sorry shell that drifts away in space, to keep fighting for a future she will not get to see. She has always taken for granted that she will be the first to leave. It is not that she wants this, but as months go by, she has settled for it. However, today has crudely proven to her there is still time for things to unfold differently; she now knows how things look from the other side.

Bill leans forward, presses his lips to her temple.

'I'm yours, Laura. I'll be with you until the very end. Nothing can stop me.'

She sighs into his chest, then lifts her head slowly. The corners of her lips twitch up as her eyes hold his.

'And I'm yours, Bill. I've always been. Even when I still had trouble admitting it.'

Her candor earns her a chuckle; with it, a measure of joy finds its way back into her bloodstream. It has been a few days since she lost her faith at the sight of the wasteland Earth had turned out to be. It took a while for her shock to start subsiding. However, as she gradually regained both strength and focus, she found out that her perception of her own life had shifted, abruptly and for good. She no longer believes, so she can't tell him what he deserves to hear: that she too will always be with him, that he will never be alone. Still, she knows he will stand by his word. He will keep her close, always alive in his memory; in that way at least, she will still be able to look after him, to protect him. She will remain his life partner for the rest of not just her days, but also his.

He is her faith.

Bill kisses her forehead and she closes her eyes, basking in his touch.

'Will you be okay?' He whispers.

She nods, hums. A smile, tired and serene, reappears on her lips.

He presses his forehead against hers for a second, then pulls back slowly.

'I'll be right back. I just want to change clothes.'

'Sure.' She replies. 'I'll do the same.'

Laura watches him as he opens his closet, takes out his robe and disappears in the head. Fatigue is evident in each of his gestures. He does not close the door behind him: this little privacy measure became needless between them a long time ago. Despite having just said she is making herself comfortable too, she stays put, staring at the glow that leaks into the room from the head. She hears water running through the tap, then a soft grunt. Bill is washing his face. She knows the sounds of his intimacy. His moving shadow paints capricious figures on the bulkhead.

Adar comes into her mind; she can't quite tell why. She thinks back to the life she used to carry, the kind of person she was before the annihilation of the Colonies. She is still that woman at her core; back then she was just waiting for a chance to step out in plain light, to develop all her untapped potential. However, she felt such emptiness behind her façade of security and control. The power that her attractive physique gave her over men (over some men, anyway) really was so ridiculous. It didn't mean a frakking thing. She used to lie to herself thinking she enjoyed it but it always felt hollow; the comfort it provided, too short-lived and superficial. She was not built for that and her loneliness only grew larger the more caught up she got in those relationships. Maybe, she muses, those men could guess her vulnerability, smell it like a wild beast does its prey. Maybe they figured out they could use her. Or maybe it was her who didn't dare to get involved in something tangible, real. Maybe, if she had not lost her entire family in that godsforsaken accident, she wouldn't have had such crave for connection. Maybe everything would have been different then.

It is  different now.

It has taken a nuclear holocaust that pushed the human species to the brink of extinction for her to finally find her place. Now, there is one man that… Probably there was always this one man for her only. The only man she can be herself with; the one she wants to surrender to entirely, body and soul. The one who sees, looks after, and loves her like nobody else ever did.

This man is changing clothes in the head right now.

In the entire vast universe, this is the only place she wants to be.

Laura kicks off her shoes and pads over to the head. She lays a hand on the frame and stays there, silently watching him. Sensing her presence, Bill turns around and smiles at her. She walks into the head, lifts her hands to his shoulders and gently pulls his already unbuttoned tunic off them, pushing the sleeves down his arms. She folds the garment and leaves it on the stool under the sink.

She stands up straight again, right behind him. Their eyes meet in the mirror. His are a question mark. He is trying to guess her intentions; to figure out what exactly she is getting started. Laura perceives his quiet confusion and smiles.

'Let me help you.'

He stays still for a second, reading her; then nods. She is sure he has understood her without the shadow of a doubt. This is how everything works between them. Even in total silence, their gazes speak to each other with quiet understanding.

Laura slides her fingers inside the waist of his trousers and pulls his tanks up. He lifts his arms and helps her slide them over his head. She folds and leaves them on the stool, over the tunic. He leans down to take off his boots and socks, undoes his belt and lets the weight of his trousers pull them down his legs. He shakes one foot gently, then the other, to free them from the fabric pooled around them.

Last, he gets rid of his pants. He proceeds in an unhurried, focused manner. He knows perfectly well what he is doing, what this is about. He knows it is not sex. That is not what she expects. Not today. Not tonight.

Laura squats down and picks up from the ground the heap of garments he has just discarded off his body. She leaves it on the stool. Then, she stands up again and walks around him, positioning herself between Bill and the sink, her back to the mirror. She plunges into his gaze, and he holds her own with equal intensity. She knew that he would not hide; that she could count on him.

Laura lays her hands gently on his cheeks. She gives him a small smile. Bill leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to her mouth, and it is so sweet and distracting, so gentle and intense, that she almost forgets her purpose and surrenders to his desire right there and then. How he can still want her is beyond her comprehension. Before she can form any coherent thought, he pulls back and slides his fingers inside the shoulders of her jacket. He divests her of it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He knows what to do. He has read it in her eyes a few minutes ago. Looking into his, she realizes he needs this as much as she does.

Laura lets her arms fall to her sides so that he can proceed. She trusts him. It is Bill's turn now to rid her of everything she is wearing. First the jacket, then the pants, fall to the deck soundlessly. Like he just did, she steps out of the heap and kicks it to the side, where they can no longer trip on it. Leaning into Bill for balance, she slides off her socks pushing them past her heels with her feet. The tiles are cold under her plants. Instinctively, Laura curls her toes to warm them up; to secure herself to the ground.

Bill's fingers work on the buttons of her shirt with sure moves. One by one, he pushes them through their holes. When he is done, he peels the garment off her arms. She helps him pulling the cuffs past her wrists. She lays it on the sink behind her. Now, she can also feel the cold on her torso.

Laura lifts her eyes to him. Bill strokes her naked arms up and down with the backs of his hands. He drinks her in with that deep, dark look of his, and she shivers. An echo of arousal reverberates in her belly. It is okay, more than okay, even if that is not what she wants now. She doesn't mind it, because she knows he has understood her from the start, and that their mutual need is in sync. Bill slides his arms across her back, and she leans into him. She feels his fingers fumble with the hooks of her bra. Then, he gently pulls the stripes off her shoulders and reaches around her to place it on the sink. She gets rid of her last garment, just sliding it down and past her hips and letting it fall to the deck. Her knees go wobbly; he holds her up.

He always will, until the very end.

Laura gives him an intense look, then closes her eyes. Laying her palms on his bare chest, her fingers explore, slide, test and feel, up and down his scar, along his muscles and the lines and creases of his skin. His breathing quickens but he stays quiet, lets her have her way. She wraps her arms around his torso; her breasts press into his flesh. She sees him swallow. She leans up and kisses the base of his neck. She sucks and nibbles and inhales and, for a second, she believes his scent can cure her, be stronger than her disease. Holding her to him with his palms on her hips, he tilts his head to give her access; his groan makes her smile against his skin. She does not want sex, not yet anyway, but she wants him to feel her passion; she wants to convey everything she is too choked up to say.

She leaves a light kiss right under his jaw and pulls back, searching his eyes. He smiles down at her. Then, he pushes her shoulders gently making her turn around and face their joint, naked reflection in the mirror. Bill's fingers brush two strands of hair off her face. Then, he slides his palms across her skin. Those large, hot palms, so surprisingly soft when they touch her. Bill lays one on her belly, the other on her breast. That breast. She knows he considers it his enemy; the enemy that disputes him the woman of his life. Now, his gesture tells her that he loves it too, just like he loves all of her.

Laura watches her own body. She knows the precise places where the effects of her disease are more noticeable. She searches intently for all those signs, one after the other. She notices how her ribs outstand. The paleness of her skin; the purple shadows along her arms, marking the spots where the needle pierces her flesh every few days, pouring poison into her system that kills her faster than the cancer. Her left breast, of course, if it weren't because Bill's loving hand encloses it, protects it from her critical gaze. He is protecting her body from herself.

It is not the first time.

On the surface of the mirror, she meets Bill's gaze. She sees both pain and tenderness: he knows what she was just doing. He knows he can't stop her, no matter how hard he would like to. But he can look at her like he does now, in that way that makes her stop minding everything she has just seen.

Placed between Bill and the mirror, her body hides the scar on his chest.

Laura lays her hands on his arms, wrapped around her torso. They stay quiet, watching their reflection. Their bodies together; aged, sick, imperfect. Loved.

Only then she realizes it: something is missing. It is a simple detail, yet essential for this to mean exactly what she wants. To truly give him her whole, bare self; her naked truth. She lifts one hand and slides two fingers on the nape of her neck. She pushes gently and her wig comes loose. Laura places it on the sink and lifts her gaze, forcing herself to face that pale, round skull. She bites her lip; her throat goes tight. That is the precise moment Bill kisses her right there, on that patch of skin that should not be visible, where that auburn mane he too was so fond of used to be.

With his lips still on her skin, Bill looks toward the mirror, finding her eyes there. She knows he wants her to read him. He is making a point: whatever she is here and now, that is what he loves most. He wants her to see it doesn't matter. He only cares about what it means.

It means she suffers, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.

It means her disease can't be defeated with his weapons.

It means that, after all and despite days like today, maybe Laura is right: she will be the first to leave. And when the day comes, she will take all of him away with her, leaving just his empty shell behind.

She hears a sob that sounds like hers.

Bill holds her tighter.


End file.
